


Prisoners

by redredribbons



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 01:50:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2251395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redredribbons/pseuds/redredribbons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Megatron and Starscream are captured by the Autobots and find some interesting ways to pass the time. This is a re-post of a fic I originally posted on Tumblr a while back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prisoners

This mess was, unsurprisingly, all Starscream’s fault.  
  
Megatron had tried to avert the disaster, but to no avail. Starscream had seen one of the Autobots’ little human pets wandering alone and the temptation had been too much to resist. Megatron shouted at him that it was so obviously a trap; Starscream argued that the opportunity was too valuable too pass up. The Autobots would essentially be at their mercy as long as they had such a captive. While Megatron understood the logic, this situation reeked of a set-up. Prime, despite being wrong about most things, was not stupid. He wouldn’t allow one of his pet humans to roam unattended so close to Decepticon territory. The warnings fell on deaf audio sensors; Starscream was a bundle of impulse and seldom considered the consequences of his actions. More often than not this worked in Megatron’s favor, as it ensured that none of Starscream’s takeover attempts would never be anything more than that. But in this case, it proved to be his downfall. The Autobots had been waiting, hidden amongst nearby rock outcroppings. Starscream was fast and clever, but there was nothing he could do when outnumbered and hit in the chest with an EMP grenade. Megatron didn’t hesitate for a second before swooping after him. Starscream was too valuable to be left in Autobot clutches. He knew too much, and Megatron hardly trusted him to keep quiet. The Autobots would inevitably find ways to make him talk... Megatron’s higher functions seemed to shut down at that thought, and his focused narrowed to a beam of blind, rage-fueled determination.  
  
It was one of the few times when Megatron had to live with the consequences of a spectacularly poor decision. He’d fought brutally and severely damaged several of the Autobots, but even he was not invincible in the face of overwhelming odds. In the end, he’d been outnumbered and overpowered, the same as Starscream.  
  
And now Megatron was cooling his heels in the Autobots’ brig, with Starscream in the cell next to him. The cells were little more than oversized cages, empty except for a too-small bed. The cell doors were nothing but bars, allowing them no privacy whatsoever. More bars were the only separation between the two cells, ensuring their every move was visible to the Autobots thanks to the security cameras tirelessly watching them from the hallway.  
  
Despite the frustration of being captured, of having made such a foolish error of judgment, the fury of having his fusion canon deactivated against his will, Megatron stayed calmed and conserved energy. Before being thrown into the signal-dampening bowels of the Autobots’ base, he’d managed to relay a transmission back to Soundwave. The communications officer was already planning a rescue, and Megatron knew he and Starscream would be free soon. In the meantime, he could be patient. He would not give the Autobots the satisfaction of witnessing his distress. He adopted a stony, meditative facade and bided his time.  
  
Unfortunately for Megatron, Starscream succumbed easily to boredom-- made even worse by his agitation at being trapped in a small space without so much as a glimpse of the sky. The Seeker was a howling, furious mess, spitting curses at the Autobots and clawing at them through the bars when they came too close.  
  
Megatron cycled a long intake of air when he heard the beeps of a security code being keyed into the door of the brig. A growl from the adjacent cell made it clear that Starscream heard as well. The door slid open and Ironhide entered, carrying two small cubes of industrial-grade energon. He set one of the cubes on the floor and, standing well back from bars, used a metal pole to slide it into the cell. Megatron’s lips twitched at that; he’d learned well after nearly losing an optic to Starscream the day before. The hatred burning in Ironhide’s expression provided Megatron with more sustenance than the poor-quality energon ever could.  
  
“You wretched scum!” Starscream hissed, wings flattening in defensive rage, “When I get free of this pitiful cell, which I will, I shall take special pleasure in tearing out your fuel intake lines-- slowly.”  
  
Ironhide grunted as he nudged Starscream’s cube through the bars. “You keep telling yourself that, Decepticon trash.”  
  
Megatron rolled his optics. What an idiot this Autobot was, letting himself be goaded by Starscream’s petty tricks.  
  
“And you know, there are laws governing the treatment of war prisoners. It is cruel and unusual to keep a Seeker in such confined conditions, away from the sky!” Starscream snarled.  
  
“Guess we were all out of luxury cells. Now why don’t ya go complain to someone who cares,” Ironhide said, thoroughly put-upon and wondering what he’d done to deserve Decepticon feeding duty. He stomped out of the brig, no longer deigning to respond to Starscream’s screeching diatribe. When the door slammed shut behind him, Megatron rose from his seated position on the thin, hard bed.  
  
“Starscream,” he said, “Be silent. You waste energy, and your endless shrieking makes this already unpleasant experience even more tiresome.”  
  
The Seeker’s ire immediately redirected onto his leader. He hurled himself against the bars separating their cells, gripping them so tightly that the joints in his fingers creaked.  
  
“And your company is certainly no walk in the park either,” he snapped.  
  
“Really, Starscream. I’ve barely said a word the entire we’ve been here. The Autobots care nothing for us, or for your tantrums. Soundwave will see that we are freed and empty threats will not make that happen sooner,” Megatron said, trudging closer to the bars.  
  
“Only a coward would accept this horrific treatment without a word of protest!” Starscream shot back, now pressing his face between the bars as if he could somehow melt through them, “What kind of leader doesn’t even care if he’s been shamed at the hands of his enemies?”  
  
Megatron reached one hand through the bars and seized Starscream by the throat. He flexed his fingers against delicate cabling and savored the resulting squawk of alarm.  
  
“Need I remind you, Starscream, that it is entirely your fault that we are here in the first place? The only shame here is that the mech I promoted to second-in-command of my army could be as gullible and short-sighted as some common grunt,” Megatron snarled in his face, “I should have left you to endure this torment alone. My company is far more than you deserve.”  
  
“Is that so,” Starscream wheezed, lips curling into a petty little frown, “Then why didn’t you, hm? Did your pride get in the way of common sense yet again?”  
  
“Your ability to project your own failings onto others continues to be more impressive than your ability to use logic,” Megatron said. He had begun to pull steadily forward on Starscream’s throat, unconsciously trying to drag him closer.  
  
“You speak of my failings! You’re the great and powerful lord of the Decepticon army! Yet you allowed yourself to be captured!” Starscream screamed directly into Megatron’s face.  
  
Megatron relaxed slightly and chuckled in response. Starscream’s rage grated on his nerves to be sure. However it also made the Seeker refreshingly honest, when his emotions burst through the dam of machinations and poured out in a jumbled, uninhibited waterfall.  
  
“Yes, yes I am the ‘great and powerful lord of the Decepticon army’, as you so eloquently stated,” Megatron smirked, “Always nice to hear you acknowledge that particular fact.”  
  
“I didn’t-- why you-- ugh. Just let go of me,” Starscream pouted.  
  
“Why should I?” Megatron said, resting his forehead against the bars, “So you can go back to your obnoxious whining and moaning?”  
  
Starscream began to squirm and attempted to pry Megatron’s fingers away from his throat. The warlord didn’t relent; Starscream’s sulkiness and self-induced embarrassment were entirely too amusing, just as his unquenchable fiery spirit was alluring. He licked his lips and kept Starscream pressed as close to the bars as physically possible.  
  
“No, Starscream, I don’t think I will. There are better ways to pass the time,” Megatron purred. He strained forward; the bars dug uncomfortably into his faceplates but he managed brush his lips against Starscream’s in a ghost of a kiss. The Seeker whined and shuddered, cockpit glass clinking against the bars.  
  
“Megatron. There are security cameras...” Starscream whispered.  
  
“I know,” Megatron replied. He quite enjoyed the idea of having spectators-- especially given that Optimus could very well be monitoring the feed personally. He flicked his tongue out to taste Starscream’s lower lip and trace the curves of his mouth. The Seeker gave a barely-audible whimper and his wings twitched, systems heating rapidly at the tease. His optics flicked sidelong to the hallway outside the cells, where the camera was positioned as Megatron slid his other hand between the bars to pinch along along the lower edge of a wing. He knew just where the most delicate armor seams and and flight sensors were clustered, and ruthlessly exploited his familiarity with the jet’s frame. Starscream gave a shaky gasp and glanced sidelong into the hallway, where the security camera’s electronic eye was permanently trained on them. Not that the Autobots deserved to see his gorgeous frame so intimately, but there was a certain amusement in the idea as well. Some of the Autobots seemed so young, so innocent. The idea of haunting there naughtiest dreams and filling their waking hours with shame was appealing enough for Starscream to throw caution to the wind. He nipped at Megatron’s tongue before extending his own to meet it. The obscene, wet caress stoked the heat already building between his legs.  
  
“Why Megatron,” he sneered, “I had no idea you enjoyed an audience.”  
  
The taste of Starscream’s breath drew an involuntary shudder from Megatron and he dug his fingers more forcefully into the wing. “You don’t seem to mind either”, he lowered his voice until the words were more felt than heard, “you little slut.”  
  
“Speaking of not complaining...” Starscream hissed. The delicate metal of his wing was beginning to crumple in Megatron’s fist, and the resulting burst of pain was like a lightning bolt straight to his interface array. He bit Megatron’s tongue again, harder this time, and dug his fingertips into the heated black metal between Megatron’s legs. Squeezing and rubbing greedily, Starscream’s fingers traced the near-invisible seam of his leader’s interface panel.  
  
“You’re the one that’s been doing all the complaining-- at audio-splitting volumes, might I add,” Megatron said. But his voice was raspy with lust and his ventilations stuttered. Starscream pressed his advantage.  
  
“Then why don’t you follow your own advice and give me something better to scream about?” Starscream panted. These words earned him his reward. Megatron’s interface panel snapped back and the full thick length of his spike extended upward into Starscream’s waiting hand. The Seeker skimmed his fingertips teasingly up and then back down the underside of the shaft, exploring each of its segments and connectors. Megatron groaned through clenched teeth at the expert tease and his spiked throbbed in search of harsher stimulation. Starscream gave a pleased, smug giggle-- only to be choked off moments later by Megatron’s tightening hand on his throat.  
  
“Don’t even start with your commentary,” he growled, even as he thrust his hips against the bars, chasing Starscream’s nimble fingers. The Seeker wheezed in protest but took the hint, and began stroking Megatron’s spike in earnest. He wrapped both his hands around the length, one near the base and one near the tip, and worked them in tandem as best he could. The motion was awkward due to the barrier between them, but effective enough. Fluid began to seep from the tip, easing the slide of Starscream’s hands, and the already-thick length swelled further. Starscream licked his lips and cooed in appreciation, but the sound was lost in the excited roar of jet engines. Megatron let go of Starscream throat in favor of bracing himself against the well-anchored bars. His hips moved of their own accord, dancing to the rhythm of Starscream’s well-practiced ministrations. The smooth plating of Starscream’s palms was electrifying against the tightly-clustered sensors on the underside of his spike, and damned if the Seeker didn’t know just how hard to squeeze, just the right moment to press his thumb into the slit... The charge was building, coiling tight and hot and explosive deep in his fuel tanks. But unfailing self-control kept his overload in check; as good as this felt, Megatron craved to pump Starscream’s valve full, not merely soil his plating.  
  
He shoved his second’s hands away with a harsh snarl. “Open for me. Now.”  
  
The order had scarcely left Megatron’s lips before it had been obeyed. For all his bluster and defiance, Starscream was helpless in the face of his leader’s effortlessly commanding presence. From the moment they first locked eyes, vorns ago in a shoddy Kaon medbay, Starscream’s frame had been Megatron’s property to command and use. Even now his physical responsiveness delighted Megatron to no end, and he promptly delved two fingers between his second’s shapely thighs. Silky, warm wetness greeted  his touch. Delicate folds spread to invite him deeper until two fingers were fully seated within the Seeker’s valve. Starscream twitched his wings and whined, already impatient.  
  
“That’s a good pet,” Megatron breathed against Starscream’s lips. He worked his fingers  slowly in and out, savoring the slight resistance when he pushed in and the hungry squeeze on the way out. The valve was every bit as tight and inviting as it had been their first time and Megatron’s spike pulsed hotly in anticipation. He pulled his fingers out and brought them to his mouth. He inhaled deeply before slowly licking them clean, humming in pleasure as the distinctive tang of Starscream’s lubricant washed through his senses. The next pressing issue was how to most effectively get at Starscream given the bars dividing them. There was no way Megatron would be able to manhandle his second as much as he preferred, but there were still opportunities to be had. He eyed the bed in Starscream’s cell; despite its relative flimsiness, it was bolted to the cell wall and the foot of it looked to be the correct distance from the bars. It would suffice.  
  
“Turn around. Hands on the edge of the bed,” Megatron ordered, “Present yourself to me.”  
  
“Yes, Leader,” Starscream replied saucily. His compliance was spellbinding; turning slowly around to reveal the full expanse of his wings, gracefully bending at the waist the brace himself against the bed, knees straight and spread, perky round aft held high in an enticing display of flexibility. And best of all, his swollen, dripping valve fully exposed and ripe for the taking. Megatron grabbed Starscream’s hips and pulled him back the last few inches until his aft was pressed tightly against the bars. Blue thrusters shifted as Starscream adjusted his weight, bracing himself for the pounding he desperately longed for. Satisfied with the positioning, Megatron took hold of his spike and angled it toward that eager valve. Starscream’s optics dimmed and his jaw hung slack at the intense, burning stretch. The penetration was like a slow-motion chain reaction inside of him as Megatron’s spike raked across one sensor node after another, sending jolts of hot pleasure reverberating through his circuitry. The movement stopped prematurely and Starscream was rudely reminded of the bars between them. Megatron’s hips scraped against the bars; he wasn’t fully seated inside the Seeker. Not ideal, but the supple, tight heat squeezing him was exquisite all the same. He began to move, slamming as forcefully into Starscream as he could, heedless of the bars digging into his hip plating.  
  
“Once we’re back on the Nemesis,” he growled, “Primus, mmnn that’s good, I’m going to fuck you so _deep_ \--”  
  
Starscream moaned incoherently as dark hands clamped over his hips to hold his aft tight against the bars. He missed the assault of Megatron’s spike against the deepest sensors in his valve, the ones even he couldn’t reach himself, but the stretch and fullness offered by that impressive shaft still drove him wild. He ground his hips against the bars in slow, tight circles, forcing maximum stimulation against the sensors that could be reached. Megatron’s fast, relentless pace had them lit up like a battlefield at night and Starscream clutched the edge of the bed for dear life, shrill moans bouncing off of concrete walls. He turned his head to face the outside and hoped he was making optic contact with whoever might be watching. He fluttered his wings and arched his back even more, keenly aware of his own eroticism. He wished he could see himself. Perhaps they could steal a copy of recording from the Autobots before escaping...  
  
Megatron appreciated the display as well, and increased his pace. His hips clanged sharply against the bars with every thrust and he gripped that cherry red aft painfully tight. How he hoped Optimus would see this-- see him rutting into Starscream’s lithe airframe and feel jealousy. Loneliness, even. Megatron’s intakes rasped and he groaned raggedly. The sounds coalesced into Starscream’s name.  
  
The jet relished it and egged him on: “Oh yes, yes Leader, fuck me hard, fill me up-- _yes_!”  
  
As grating as Starscream’s voice normally was, his raw, high-volume enthusiasm never failed to stir Megatron’s spark. He pounded into his second erratically, desperately, each stroke tightening and condensing the heat within in his core until it finally exploded in a supernova of scorching bliss. His head snapped back, teeth clenched, neck cables straining. His spike twitched as deep inside Starscream as he could reach and unloaded spurt after spurt of fluid. The Seeker’s valve walls quivered and pulsed in answer before clamping down hard, milking a final burst of ejaculate from Megatron’s spike. His wings stood out almost perpendicular to his back as the spasms of overload seized him and he cried out Megatron’s name over and over again. Legs trembling, Megatron let go of Starscream in favor of leaning heavily against the cooler metal of the bars. Starscream’s arms finally gave out and he flopped face first onto the bed, lower body hanging awkwardly off the end. It was the sort of embarrassing position he’d normally avoid at all costs, and Megatron laughed quietly at his unguarded clumsiness. The Seeker groaned as he slowly right himself, making sure to give one final smirk to the security camera.  
  
“Ugh, there are no wash racks in here,” he griped. Now that his pleasure had subsided he was all too aware of the sticky fluids drying on his aft and thighs. He squirmed uncomfortably and used his hand to crudely wipe away the largest smears. After examining the mess for a moment, he dragged his open hand along the wall of the cell, leaving a wet, dirty trail in its wake.  
  
“A little souvenir for the Autobots,” he snickered. Megatron was far too relaxed and sated to scold Starscream for his whining; somehow it seemed much less irritating than his earlier tantrums.

 

* * *

  
  
First Aid reset his optics and continued to stare vacantly at the security feed on the screen. He shook his helm, reassuring himself that he hadn’t dropped into recharge. He hated to admit it, but it wouldn’t have been the first time; keeping an eye on their two Decepticon prisoners had rapidly lost its luster, and there was very little entertainment to be had in watching Megatron sit in stoic silence while Starscream raged at anything that moved. He’d quickly learned to shut off the sound on the feed; Starscream’s voice was like broken glass scraping on rusted metal. He had no idea how Megatron tolerated it.  
  
What First Aid just seen-- or thought he’d seen-- was another matter entirely. Part of him simply didn’t want to know the truth, to stay ignorant and let himself think it was all some sort of disturbing dream. But his finger was already hovering over the monitor controls, and before he could stop himself he was rewinding the recording. Just a few frames at a time, bit by bit... if that really had happened, he certainly didn’t want a full replay. The security feed didn’t lie, however, and First Aid mashed the “stop” button the moment he saw it again. Starscream, bending forward, wings perked, aft high and pressed against the bars... Megatron, holding onto those red hips for dear life as his own pushed forward to join with Starscream’s. First Aid tried and tried to devise an alternate explanation for what was happening, anything else that those two might be doing, but there was nothing. It was too obvious. His faceplates burned with embarrassment and disgust; of all the mechs to catch in the act! Besides, First Aid was quite certain that that was not appropriate protocol for prisoners of war. They were supposed to be prisoners, after all; being punished, not pleasuring each other.  
  
Fighting his own embarrassment and uncertainty, First Aid shyly pinged Optimus, “Optimus, it’s me. First Aid. Monitoring the security feed. It’s the prisoners. They were, um. They uhh--”  
  
“What’s wrong, First Aid?” Optimus’s patient, reassuring voice responded, “What have our prisoners done? Is there a security threat?”  
  
“Well, no...” the medic trailed off, “It’s just that-- can I just send you the recording?”  
  
First Aid wanted to melt into the floor when he realized what he’d said. _Here Optimus, watch this video of your mortal enemies interfacing._ Not awkward at all. Nope. He supposed he should at least warn Optimus.  
  
“Theywereinterfacing!” First Aid blurted helplessly.  
  
A long pause. First Aid slumped miserably in his chair, inexplicably dreading Optimus’s reply.  
  
Finally, it came; strangely calm, with an undertone to it First Aid couldn’t place: “I see... I suppose I have no choice but to review it, and re-assess the current arrangement in the brig.”  
  
“Yes sir, sending it over,” First Aid said with palpable relief.  
  
“Oh, and First Aid?” Optimus said, “Make sure you save a copy.”  
  
  



End file.
